Nickie the Housewife
by Conformity Outcast
Summary: A young woman lives out her fantasy of becoming a mobster's mistress. But she starts to wonder if "the life" is all it's cracked up to be. Warning: contains coarse language and adult themes. Please review!
1. Initiation

It was an ordinary Friday night at the bar. I was having drinks with my girlfriends from the office. I slammed down my empty shot glass for the second time that evening, and proudly proclaimed: "No man will ever turn ME into a housewife!"

"Here, here!" cheered my mates, as the sound of clinking glasses and the pouring of my third fireball filled my personal space. I was so drunk, I almost didn't feel his eyes boring into me.

I directed my attention away from my noisy table toward the bar. An older, good-looking gent was smoking and staring at me. I pushed out my chest and licked the rim of my glass. He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"Nickie? Nickie!" I suddenly realized my friends were calling to me.

"Are you all right? Ooohhh…" The girls knew of my partiality to older men, as well as how chicken-shit I was to approach them.

"He was looking at you, Crystal," I blurted. And with her body, why wouldn't he? But we both knew he wasn't.

Then the silver fox stood up and made confident strides toward my table, allowing me an improved view of his tailored suit. He looked just like a man who had been in the paper. I couldn't place him.

"I need to powder my nose," announced Crystal. "Me too," said the rest of the group. Then it snapped into place.

"Do you know who that man is?!" I panicked. The gent eyeing me was Jimmy the Gent, or the suspected mastermind behind the Lufthansa heist.

"Get some diamonds for me!" shouted one so-called friend. "Fur coat!" yelled another.

""Bitches," I muttered. I was counting on them to prevent me from making a fool of myself. Now I'd be putty in his hands. In truth, I didn't give a fuck about his reputation. I hated the airport; they deserved to get ripped off. Besides, no one was killed. But primarily, I'd been getting off on fantasies of being a mobster's mistress since puberty. But how to play my cards right? I wasn't sure whether to dumb it down or be myself. Without my friends to guide me, I was lost.

I decided what to do as he greeted me and took a seat. "Please sit down, Jimmy," I said flatly. He started at the sound of his name. "I know who you are," I smirked. The fact that the sexiest gangster in New York City was interested in me gave my ego a huge boost.

He took a drag off his cigarette and smiled. Clearly he had me pegged for a floozy and seemed pleasantly surprised that I wasn't.

"You're a beautiful woman." He paused.

"Nicole. I go by Nickie."

"That's easy to remember."

"I know. Your wife goes by Mickey."

Again he paused. "Do you want to go for a ride in my Cadillac?"

"Where would you take me?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Your bed."

He leaned back in his chair and smiled at me.

"Women's Lib has made me blunt," and I swallowed the last of my fireball.

He took another drag. That's when I realized how aroused I was. My pussy was drenched and I almost started playing with my boobs right there.

He stood up and extended his hand toward me. "Come with me." Without a word I put my hand in his and we walked to his car.

I gasped and my nipples erected in response to the cold. _Shit. I forgot my coat_ , I thought. But before I could say anything, warmth from my own coat enveloped me. Jimmy had remembered my coat. I might have forgotten my head at that point.

After less than a minute, but what felt like an eternity, we reached his pink Cadillac. I whistled as he opened the passenger door for me.

"This is sweet," I said in a cringe-inducingly high tone.

"The original owner didn't need it anymore," he said brusquely.

I felt cold again. I'd heard stories about Jimmy and his fondness for murder. What if he only picked me up to murder me? Would he do that? Kill me just for fun?

That train of thought melted from the heat of his lips on mine. Another lifetime passed as our tongues became acquainted. Finally he drew back.

"I always wanted to fuck a gangster." I was equal parts drunk and horny, with a dash of scared. But I was going to have my way.

I watched him assess me coldly, with a warm smirk. "We'll go to my apartment."

"Is that where you take your mistresses?"

"You got a problem with that?" His harsh tone contradicted the hot lust in his brown eyes.

"After tonight we'll see," I purred mischievously. I snaked my hand up his thigh, finding his quickly-hardening cock. "How can your wife sleep without you? I couldn't last a night until you pounded me with your hot Italian sausage."

"If you don't shut up," Jimmy growled as he punched the gas, "I'll have to pull over and fuck you right in the car."

"I was hoping you'd fuck me in the pussy, but okay," I grinned. He looked even sexier when frustrated, if that was possible.

Silence reigned for the remainder of the trip. Verbal silence, that is—our eye contact was as loud as the bar we had left.

When we reached his apartment, I tried to get out of the car, but Jimmy rushed to open the door for me.

"What?" he inquired in response to my quizzical expression.

"I just like to open my own doors, carry my own bags—"

My feminist commentary was cut short by his tongue in my mouth. I stumbled slightly as he pushed me away. My eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust as I took in his handsome features.

"Just so you know, I won't pay for it," he said firmly.

I rolled my eyes as I recalled he was from a very different generation. "I'm on the pill. I don't want to get pregnant."

He smiled. "Are you perfect, or what?" He turned the key with one hand and stroked my cheek with the other. Then he led me inside.


	2. Risk

I poured myself another shot after I slammed down the phone. My friend Sandy was driving me crazy with her nonstop phone calls. Like me, she'd always wanted to be a mobster's mistress and had gotten her wish. But she foolishly fell in love with the guy. I explained to her that he had to keep up appearances and would therefore never leave his wife for her, even if he felt the same way. I told her if she annoyed him too much, he would abandon her and find another side-chick to cut his coke. I figured she was calling him as often as she called me, so he'd likely dump her any day.

The thought gave me a sinister smile. Her guy's name was Henry—his black hair and blue eyes were enough to drive any woman wild. I decided to make a move on him the next chance I got. Sandy would hate me and Jimmy would kill me.

Even in 1980, Jimmy thought I (and his wife) had to be faithful to him. I got really pissed when I realized he only kept me around for sex acts he wouldn't do with his wife.

I arrived at the bar in this pissy mood. I sat in the corner wondering where my life had taken such a fucked-up turn. Maybe I should have listened to my mother after all. Being a housewife was boring, but far safer than screwing gangsters.

"Who needs whiskey when he can get drunk on beauty instead?" I smiled at the familiar voice. For all his patriarchal attitudes, Jimmy could still charm the panties off a rattlesnake.

"How are you, sweetheart?" he asked after we shared a long kiss.

"I'm just tired," I lied. _Tired of your bullshit._

"Good, because I can only stay for a few minutes. Tommy and I have some business to take care of."

I sighed, knowing I would spend the night alone for the fourth night in a row. Oh well, I had purchased a rabbit vibrator for times like these.

Then, the object of my forbidden desire entered the bar. Henry and Jimmy embraced, then briefly whispered about some gangster shit.

"Doll, I have to go," Jimmy kissed me goodbye. "Henry," he pointed, "I don't have to tell you what happens if you corrupt my porcelain doll."

I bit my lip to keep from screaming while Henry laughed his glass-shattering laugh. Then he lit a cigarette.

"Can I get a light?" I extended a coffin nail towards him. The flame from his lighter engulfed the cigarette as my thong overflowed with wetness. The glow of the lighter highlighted his sharply handsome features.

I exhaled. "How's Sandy?"

"She's great," he replied too quickly.

I smiled and traced his knuckles with my finger. "That shit doesn't work on me, Henry," I said softly. "She calls you constantly. She knows where you go and always asks for you. You hardly get a moment's peace. When you finally visit her, she bitches at you the whole time. She acts like a whore, but she can't let a screw just be a screw."

By now his piercing blue eyes were penetrating my own. I smirked as his eyes fell to my heaving bosom. I laughed to myself, since the red number I was wearing came from a shipping trip I had went on with Jimmy's money.

"You know how Jimmy handles betrayal. He'd whack us both," he said as he stroked my blonde locks.

"Then we'll have to be careful. Fuck it, Sandy might whack us before he does!"

Henry laughed again. "My car's outside." Suddenly his mouth smashed into mine and his hands scrambled under the low back of my dress, searching for my bra's clasp.

He looked confused when I pushed him away. I rasped out, "Kissing you sure is fun, but I have other things in mind."

He smiled and took my hand. We rushed out to his car like teenagers on prom night. The car remained in the lot for the next two hours.


	3. Aftermath

Up to that point, I had the people in my life right where I wanted them. I was cheating on the man I was having an affair with and stabbing my close friend in the back. Neither of them suspected a thing.

It would never occur to Jimmy that the mistress he made scream his name three times a week would seek another man in her life. Dumb sexy geezer. It gave me such a thrill to throw smoldering glances at Henry whenever Jimmy's back was turned. I think he liked it as well.

As for Sandy, she trusted me completely. The stupid girl had always thought others cared about her feelings. I generally tuned her out when she whined about her relationship woes. But my ears perked right up when she shared what Henry enjoyed in bed. I made damn sure to do it better than she. I knew I did it better because he told me I did.

I must admit that Henry was a far superior lover to Jimmy. Jimmy was excellent for the in-out, but that's about it. He adored my blowjobs, but never gave back. I don't think there's anything Henry and I didn't do.

One night Henry and I lip locked in a steamy kiss once he pried his head from between my legs. Then he dropped a bomb: "I'm leaving Sandy, I just want you."

"Whoa, whoa. You're a married man!" I guffawed. "I have no interest in doing all that wifely shit."

"No, I mean I want you to be my only mistress. Sandy's going to prepare a big shipment I have going out tomorrow. That'll be the last time I see her. I love you, Nickie. I'll call you after I take Lois to the airport."

How well that worked out. I spent the next night angry since he never called me. Then spit out my coffee when I saw the next morning's headline. Henry, Sandy, and everyone else involved with that shipment had been hauled in by the narcs. At first I was relieved that I hadn't been roped into that. But knowing Henry, he would finagle his way out on bail. Then what?

I had the same empty feeling I had that day at the bar right before I fucked Henry in his car. I was doing nothing with my life but helping gangsters get off and betraying other women, sometimes my own friends. I was only 25, not even close to old maid status. Of course I was no virgin by anyone's definition, but I could still act innocently enough to snatch a stuffed-shirt man my parents would approve of. All I knew was I wanted to feel safe.

So that's what I did. But not before talking to Henry one last time. I knew that despite fucking me and Sandy and God knows who else, he loved his wife. So I advised him to get into the witness protection program to protect her and their daughters.

That was my last conversation with anyone from "the life." I changed my name and got a job as a secretary at a small firm in the Midwest. I even started going to church every Sunday. That's where I met my husband. He works a steady, eventless 9-to-5 job that keeps us middle class. I quit my job after we got married and now I stay home with our three kids.

In case you're wondering, we've never moved beyond the missionary position. My husband thinks he's a good lover. He doesn't know that I only cum because I'm imagining sucking off Jimmy Conway, or riding Henry Hill in the back of his car. My husband has no idea how I lived before I moved to Buttfuck Nowhere, Iowa. And I have no intention of telling him. The absent-minded bastard thinks he popped my cherry on our wedding night!

But I love him. He makes me feel safe. With him, I don't worry that someone from the old days will come for revenge.

I started writing this after I got a threatening phone call from New York. If you're reading this now, you must be a police detective trying to figure out why a New York gangster shot a harmless Midwestern housewife in the face.


End file.
